cascina spinasse

UPDATE:  December 4

Wow, I’m really, really late in mentioning this, but it’s still worth an update .  I first heard the rumors back in freakin’ May, but as far as I know there was never any official announcement.  Nonetheless, Justin Neidermeyer has indeed quietly packed up and shuffled back to Piedmont, from whence he came.  The kitchen is now in the (presumably) capable hands of Jason Stratton.  Formerly of Poppy and Cafe Juanita, you can read all about the new chef over here.

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So by now I’m guessing most of you have probably heard the stories about Justin Neidermeyer and his uncanny gift for spinning pasta into gold at Cascina Spinasse, a culinary love letter to Piedmont on Capitol Hill.  Spinasse has garnered an incredible amount of critical acclaim since opening last summer, and after a few tweaks to the dining experience (the multi-course prix fixe dinner menu is no longer mandatory, although communal seating endures), the buzz has continued to spread unabated.  So naturally I was pretty excited and had fairly high expectations when we finally decided to go check it out a few weeks ago.  The results were unexpectedly mixed.

For starters, the restaurant itself is dark and rustic, with twinkling candles and white lace curtains and an immaculate attention to detail.  From the framed photos and maps on the wall, to tiny vases with lovely greens on quaint wooden shelves, everything seems expertly positioned to present a perfect unity of vision.  Upon entering, the room seemed strangely quiet given the number of people crowded into the surprisingly small space.  If for no other reason than to maximize bodies, the large communal dining tables actually make sense in this setting.  Every so often, I would catch a glimpse of the maestro at work in the respectable kitchen behind the bar in the back.

Since I was with a large party, we decided to order à la carte (although there are multiple family style menus to choose from if desired, including the menu degustazione, where one can literally try every single thing on the menu that evening – $75 per person).  As it was, we virtually accomplished that undertaking given the entire lot of us.  Before we could even contemplate the menu though, our server brought us a complimentary platter of crostini – one variety with duck liver paté, and another with a nettle ricotta spread.  It was a nice touch, and one that I sincerely appreciate (as I’ve mentioned before).

We started with some pretty unique antipasti, including an absolutely exquisite steak tartare on special that evening.  The raw, finely minced beef was fresh and cool and seasoned simply with salt and pepper and a wonderful olive oil (in general, the olive oil used at Spinasse is some of the most flavorful I’ve had in recent memory – it really stood out and added depth to several of the dishes).  I was also extremely impressed with a plate of thinly sliced, cold poached veal served with a creamy tuna, caper and lemon aioli.  It had a light, smoky flavor and was somewhat reminiscent of deviled eggs.  Less successful overall was a plate of anchovies in piemontese green sauce.  The combination of pungent, dry fish with the intense garlic in the gremolata was simply too overwhelming for my palate.

This is probably as good a time as any to mention that we had some fairly serious issues with the wine list.  Piedmont is a huge wine-producing region in Italy, and the list at Spinasse exhaustively reflects this.  However, actually pairing a bottle with each course wound up being surprisingly difficult.  And with no apparent sommelier that I could discern, we were left in the hands of the server, who made a heroic effort but clearly couldn’t grasp what we were looking for.  Zero for three on recommendations, and one particular bottle was so far off the mark that we discussed sending it back (leathery, with huge notes of barnyard).  It was unfortunate, and while I’m hardly going to extrapolate any kind of definitive appraisal based on a single visit, I thought it was a glaring enough deficiency to comment on.

Thankfully, I was not disappointed with the actual pasta for which Neidermeyer has been universally celebrated.  In particular, his famous handmade tajarin was outstanding.  Suffused with a meaty tomato ragu, the impossibly thin-cut, bright yellow egg noodles were light and delicate and absolutely delicious.  We also ordered the tajarin with butter and sage, which was a little more subtle, but still awesome.  Moreover, that sage butter was used as the primary sauce for a rich Jerusalem artichoke-stuffed ravioli plate – the mild nuttiness of the sunchoke accented with toasted pine nuts, the whole dish lush and buttery.

We finished our pasta course and were still enjoying ourselves, so we decided to split one of the secondi plates.  At this point, we were still waiting for a side of roasted cauliflower that we had ordered much earlier in the evening, which still hadn’t arrived, and for which our server was profusely apologetic.  It made no difference to me, especially after we ordered the sausage with lentils and kale, but in the end our server ultimately comped us a couple of desserts for the extra wait.  It was a gracious gesture, especially considering the whole wine debacle.  Sadly, the bottom of the cauliflower was seared to a crisp, and while I enjoyed the flavor of the near caramelized balsamic vinegar, others did not.  I’m also fairly certain that the cauliflower itself was actually a cross-pollinated broccoflower, which was an unusual substitution.  (Edit:  As food lover points out in the comments below, in fact it was the Fibonacci fractaled florets of the Romanesco Cauliflower, not a broccoflower, that was actually consumed that evening).

So here’s the thing.  That last dish we ordered was a total trainwreck.  The finely ground sausage was rolled into four ping pong-sized balls, wrapped individually in caul fat and (presumably) pan-fried.  They were decidedly undercooked, difficult to chew, and regrettably oversalted.  I know, I know, but this wasn’t even an issue of taste so much as a genuine kitchen error.  Someone clearly knocked the salt grinder into the meat while the sausage was being cased.  There can be no other explanation.  We could hardly bring ourselves to touch the kale and lentils.

We quietly ate our free chocolate custard terrine and departed.

I want to reiterate that in good faith I cannot possibly render a definitive opinion on Spinasse based on a single visit.  I can only speak to this particular experience.  It’s still a relatively new restaurant and there obviously remain some kinks to be ironed out.  That said, the meal was crazy expensive, and I justifiably have higher expectations when I’m throwing down that kind of cash.  So while I fully intend to go back at some point, it’s probably not going to be anytime soon.  Sorry, Spinasse.  I’m just as surprised as you.